


A Song on the Wind

by missema



Series: Angie and Wendy [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Blight, Coming of Age, Ferelden, Fifth Blight, Gen, Grey Wardens, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Blight descends upon Ferelden, inexperienced Warden and former Circle Mage, Wendy Amell is forced to grow up as she fights for her life.<br/>A coming of age war tale, tells the story of the cousin of Angela Hawke of Lothering and how their lives inadvertently intersect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age and Thedas belong in whole to Bioware, but Wendy Amell and this story are my creative contribution to this world and thus, belong to me.

There was something haunted, absolutely too familiar and yet distant about the way the templar captain in the Lothering Chantry looks at her.  Wendy wonders if he'd ever served at the Tower, perhaps he remembers her as a younger child and can't place her face.  Though she didn't flatter herself and think that she was pretty, the man peered too long at her green eyes, making her a little unnerved by his scrutiny.  Even as a Warden, protected as she is by her status, she was cautious about templar scrutiny.  Other things, responsibility and the dire need for supplies pushes his face out of her mind and she never bothered to find out as she makes her way through the tiny town.  There are other things to worry about, and she shared the sentiment the templar stated upon informing them about the civil war; only fools are concerned with trivialities when doom is upon them.  
  
Lothering is a strange little town, and Angie can feel the narrowed eyes of the locals upon her as she walks around.  There are quite a few Chasind around, scaring everyone around them with their firsthand tales of the Blight, graphic descriptions of babes beheaded in their beds as they slumbered, loved ones dragged off by the tainted creatures, confirming what Morrigan had told her when she'd woken up in Flemeth's hut.  The whole place has an aura of oppressive gloom, but she finds it hard to think that before Ostagar and the Blight that this was a bright town full of helpful people.  Secrets seemed just under the surface, fear making them simmer and boil over as people scrambled and prepared for the worst.  It was coming, Wendy had seen it herself, and these people weren't nearly frightened enough.  In her nose, she can still smell the foul stench of the darkspawn, her throat closing at the very memory of the Tower of Ishal.  As long as she lived, that place would haunt her dreams.  
  
A dark hopelessness stole through her being, robbing her of the hope that had momentarily brightened her step when she'd lef the Circle Tower.  She thought that being a Grey Warden would be a chance to join a group of heroes, but she'd never imagined that she'd be leading said group.  Wendy took a sidelong glance at Alistair, and felt for the poor sod.  He wasn't leadership material, but then again, before Ostagar, she wouldn't have considered herself much of a leader either.  A quick study, perhaps with regards to her magical studies, and certainly swift with a clever retort, but those weren't really useful in ending a Blight.  
  
Alistair started to snap out of the shock of his grief, but Wendy can still see it in his eyes when he's not paying attention, his gaze too distant and faraway to be thinking of anything but death.  It's the same way people used to look at the Tower, other apprecentices when their friends wouldn't come back from the Harrowing.  It's an awful, angry type of grief that starts out as shock and morphs.  
  
She knows because she felt the same way when Jowan told her he was to made Tranquil.  When she first came to the Circle, Jowan was the first person she'd met there.  He was funny and friendly, something like a brother.  Though the templars that had come for her had been kind, the journey to the Tower was long, and she had been scared the whole time, young as she'd been.  Jowan gave her a pruloined honey cake and asked her name, making her smile for the first time after she arrived.  They'd become quick friends, the two of them interrupting lessons with their laughter, and she found a refuge in his company.  
  
"They'll take everything, my love for Lily."  He'd moaned, and Wendy closed her eyes, trying to stem the tide of memories that rose within her.  Poor Lily.  If she had any idea where the Aeonar was, Wendy would break in and try to save the naive priestess.  Her only crime had been trusting Jowan, just as Wendy had trusted her friend.  Though the thought of dating Jowan was a little strange to her, it was like someone having a crush on a family member, she supported the pairing, even though Lily and Jowan's relationship had an ill-fated air to it.  Wendy wished that they had been able to live out Jowan's dream, moving someplace far away and buying a farm, keeping themselves safe and it pained her that it hadn't come to pass, even with her help.  
  
"You can...you can talk to me anytime."  Cullen had informed her after she'd passed her Harrowing.  He was cute, nervous and stuttering whenever she came by.  Many of the other apprentices had taken it upon themselves to tell her of his crush on her, and every night since she'd left the Tower, she'd wondered what might have been between the two of them.  Probably nothing, she surmised, but still, the thought was attractive, what-if's fluttered into her mind, comforting her with the thought of his arms around her as they camped on the cold ground.  She'd been kissed before, but Cullen made her want something different, not sex, though she had no experience in that department.  It was something deeper, and she wondered if she might have fallen in love with him if she'd stayed at the Circle, if she'd been welcome there.  
  
All of her life was gone as she'd known it, and there was nothing to do but move forward, no matter doomed that future was, the Blight a death sentence for them all if it wasn't stopped.  Still part of her couldn't help but focus on that which was lost, left behind her.  Jowan, her best friend, the only family she'd really known, was hunted and possibly dead with the templars surely advised to show no mercy to a blood mage.  Cullen, who still made Wendy flush whenever she thought of him, thought her a traitor or worse, and she'd never see him again now that she was a Warden.  All there was now was duty and an impossible to defeat Blight looming over them.  Wendy was certain that this endeavor would kill her, and some small part of her welcomed the complete silence of death.  It was surely preferable to the din that played out inside her head these days.  
  
"Come on."  Wendy said wearily, leading the group out of the brown and depressing town of Lothering that now included a qunari, a Chantry sister and the mabari she'd helped at Ostagar, in addition to Morrigan and Alistair.  At least this wretched town had proved useful, she thought bitterly as she started down the Imperial Highway.  They could always do with more allies, especially in times like these.


	2. Chapter 2

Leliana's blue eyes followed Wendy around the camp outside of Lothering, watching her as she went around talking to everyone. She wondered just how old the mage was, the sullen expression on her face almost matching the one Alistair wore. Neither of the Grey Wardens inspired great confidence outside of a fight, and she felt more than ever that she'd made the right choice in joining them. They needed her to help bolster what she could, and to use her skills in and out of battle.

She did not want to talk about her history with the Warden, not yet, but she was more than willing to fight side by side. Isn't that what was required in Blights, in wars such as these? She'd heard and retold the stories of old enough to know that she must set aside her personal pain in order to aid these two, lone wardens and do good. It was time to let her past go.

Entering in the Brecillian Forest, Wendy looked around at the aravels and halla, her sense of smell dusted by the clean scent of the greenery that hovered around them, the Dalish culture more foreign than anything she'd ever seen in the Circle. The strange statues of their gods caught her eyes, and she could feel the gazes of the elves who found her naked interest alarming. There were books, of course, but the stolen historical tomes or worse, the disgustingly inaccurate Tevinter relics, so often written in languages she didn't understand, couldn't exactly explain who the Dalish were.

"Do you hate humans?" Wendy asked Lanaya, after listening to the story of her life. She had no idea about how difficult it was for elves. In the Circle, everyone was fair game for anything, human or elven. Templars had no particular race prejudice, but rather one against mages, or perhaps they had and she just didn't notice, the realization making her feel as if she'd been struck in the face. People there could be imperious or strange, and it was easy to write off such behavior as a personal quirk in the Circle, but outside there were real horrors, racism and the reality of the stolen history that was merely a story in the books of the Circle.

"No. It would be too easy to dislike them all, and my own curiosity makes me less fearful or angry. But there are others amongst the clan that have no love for humans. They have endured much." She explained gently, further elaboration unnecessary.

Wendy shook her head, uncomprehending, in disbelief. She would hate humans if she'd had to endure the trials of Lanaya's past. Pain throbbed beneath the surface of their leader Zathrian, and the scant explanation they were given was too clinical to satisfy Wendy. She wanted to ask more, but it was obviously too rude for an outsider, too personal for someone they'd just met. It made her so sad, their lives so different and maligned because of race and prejudice.

The world here felt too strange, as if she'd left Ferelden, but Wendy knew it was because of the Dalish. There was so much to explore, but she didn't quite know where to start. She was almost resentful, all of this information, their very culture had been washed away in war, the Dalish made out to be sound like bandits and outlaws by the Chantry.

All of their study and knowledge and there was little that actually helped her on her quests, save for the spells that she'd learned. The history that had been poured down her throat seemed like little more than propaganda and lies, the thought making bile rise within her. Perhaps her thoughts were a little too angry, or they had shown on her face because Alistair pulled her to the side.

"Are you alright? You look...I don't know." He asked, looking at her with concern.

"I think so. The Veil is so thin here, and my emotions feel heightened. I've never, never even really heard much about the Dalish before. There were a few Dalish in the Circle but they weren't very talkative. The elves that come from alienages are different, more used to humans, but they don't talk much either." She mused, trying to explain her cultural shock to the young templar.

He was so like Cullen in some ways, she didn't even bother to separate the two in her head for the time being. It was easier, and a little more comforting to think of him in that way. It gave their conversations an ease she'd found with no one else in the party since setting out, and it made her grateful that he was here. But there was something so distinctly different, he didn't conjure romantic feelings in her at all. It was a pity, Alistair was very handsome and she did appreciate him aesthetically, but didn't want to be with him. In that regard he felt more like Jowan had, a regretful pang hitting her chest at the brief thought of her lost friend.

"I understand. I was raised in the Chantry, I thought I told you that at Ostagar." He said, looking over at her. She nodded, recalling the conversation they had when she'd first gone over and found him arguing with the Senior Enchanter.

"When I joined the Wardens and had leave to go where I wanted and do things as I pleased, it was strange and startling. Just talking with people was different." He said, remembering with a small laugh. "Not that I am good at actually talking. Joking, yes. Hitting things, definitely. But small talk, nope."

"The history they teach us is such a lie!" She nearly shouted, earning a reproving look from a passing elf.

"Very biased." Alistair agreed. "But you can't be angry about that right now, you have a chance to see something few humans do, a Dalish camp. This is an honor. Don't waste it being mad at the past."

She nodded, appreciating the unusually sage words coming from Alistair. He was giving her a look, appraising her as she tried to reign in her anger.

"It's just not fair. I wonder what else in the world I have been lied to about."

"You're going to live a very angry life if you get upset about every lie."

"Maybe." She said, smiling over at him. "But at least I'm out of that blasted Tower and can make my own decisions. I mean, as long as it doesn't interfere with stopping the Blight, I don't see a problem with learning everything I can about the Dalish. Like I wonder about those tattoos, but I don't want to offend."

"Let's concentrate on getting them healthy first, alright. We have to find Witherfang. Then we can ask about the tattoos. I wonder if it hurts to get them, Maker, it looks like it takes a long time too." He added, sneaking a surreptitious look at another elf.

"To the forest." Wendy agreed, mustering up some enthusiasm for their task. Rejoining Leliana and Sten, they headed away from the Dalish camp into the misty forest, intent on rooting out Witherfang.

Leliana watched Wendy as she led them into the forest, wondering what Alistair had spoken to her about. She couldn't help but he curious about her reaction to the elves, a diffused anger pulsing from the mage, but not directed at any of the people they'd interacted with.  In dealing with the Dalish, Wendy was respectful and kind, almost reverential.

She resolved to be more open with Wendy, to try and work her out of her shell.  Clearly, she and Alistair had bonded, but even that seemed tenuous, almost as if it were a thread so fragile neither wanted to put weight on it to test the strength.  There was a lot of work ahead of them, and Wendy had to learn to deal with things more impersonally, but be more accessible to her companions.  Right now, it was almost as if she had it backwards, but Leliana understood her caution, remembering how easily she'd trusted in the past.  Unconciously, she rubbed at the scar she bore near her waist, the lasting mark of misplaced love and trust, as they moved deeper into the ghostly forest, seeking out the great werewolf.


End file.
